


cliff's edge

by anna_bolinas



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: Angst, F/F, Riley has depression and anxiety, Rucas (beta couple), bi!Riley, denying her sexuality!Maya, what's better than this just girls being pals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-08-17 13:56:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8146618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anna_bolinas/pseuds/anna_bolinas
Summary: “Maybe you saw what you wanted to see. Between me and Lucas, I mean. And you saw it because either you like Lucas, like I said before, or because…because you like…” Leap of faith. “You like me.” // gm texas with a twist





	1. cliff's edge

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from hayley kiyoko's song "cliff's edge"  
> riley is a closeted bi, maya is a closeted lesbian struggling with compulsory heterosexuality

Riley doesn’t like uncertainty. She thinks she’s made that pretty clear over the years. She wants to know where she stands with people, wants the ground beneath her to be solid and sure. So the fact that, recently, her friend group has become as unstable as an old house is not appreciated. Well, really, it’s mostly Lucas and Maya causing the instability, but they’re pretty important. Okay, really, it’s Maya that upsets her the most, because Maya is supposed to be her rock, Maya is supposed to be the planet that she orbits around, Maya is supposed to keep her safe in her gravitational pull, so frankly, it’s not cool that lately Maya makes her heart slosh around in her chest.

They sit at the campfire in silence, Lucas by Maya, Farkle by Riley. Zay is off on his date with Vanessa, the only one of them, it seems, who knows what he’s doing. Although, Riley sometimes suspects that Zay feels a lot more than he says, sort of like she does; in his case, he has a cloak of unconcerned coolness, everything sliding off his back like so much water. Hers is a mask and much less complex—it’s just a smile, paper-thin, and sometimes she’s surprised that nobody sees how crumpled it is. But maybe she’s always been more perceptive about other people’s feelings. That’s half of the reason why the mask exists—to protect other people’s feelings.

Riley tests the weight of the words she’s planning on saying— _Maya likes Lucas._ She’s still not sure if that’s true or not—she’s perceptive, but Maya’s been hard to read lately, all curled in on herself like a cat—but she’s sick of this listlessness, this stagnation that’s descended on all of them, a thin green sheen. Nobody will move, nobody will speak, and the stars glitter down on them an almost malevolent light, and she just wants something, anything, to happen so she can hear something, anything, beyond the beating of her own heart.

Before she can speak, to her surprise, it’s Maya who breaks the silence.

“Is it cool if I talk to Riley alone, you guys?”

Not what Riley was expecting, but she’ll take it. Finally someone has changed the channel, replaced the static with a pop of color and sound. Lucas and Farkle exchange glances.

“Well, you heard her,” Riley says. “Bay window, bay window now, except with a campfire.”

“So get out,” Maya says, and Riley notices it’s not quite as fierce as it usually is.

Lucas looks from Maya to Riley to Farkle and back to Riley, a silent appeal in his eyes. Maya refuses to look at him; Riley smiles, unsure what he wants from her. She would never deny Maya anything; he knows that. Farkle stands up, claps his hands together. “All right, Lucas, do you, uh, wanna go get some ice cream then?”

“Sure thing, Farkle,” Lucas says, but it’s hesitant. He’s still looking at Riley, his eyes roaming her face like searchlights. He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “But um…real quick. Riley, what you said before, about being brother and sister…is that really what you think?”

So maybe the desire for something to happen wasn’t such a great idea after all. Instead of searchlights, it’s a spotlight trained on her; the action of the play can’t move forward until she says her line, but she can’t think of what she should say, of what her line even is, and she feels Maya tense beside her, and she wants to believe that whatever she says next won’t make Maya burst. Although she can’t tell if that’s because she doesn’t want Maya to be jealous or because—something amorphous, red and pink in her mind, that she can’t quite form into something solid.

She settles for, “What do you think we are?”

“I know what I’d like to be.” He considers taking a step towards her, she can tell, but he hesitates again. She’s seized by a sudden desire to kiss him here, he looks so unsure, and she knows how that feels, but something tells her she’d only shatter if she did that; the whole world would shatter, a clock wound too tight.

“And I know what I’d like to be too,” she says instead, and it’s mostly true. “But I need to talk to Maya first.”

He nods. “Okay. Take your time,” he says, and with a final glance at both her and Maya—who still refuses to look at him—he shuffles away, Farkle at his side.

Well, _that_ certainly happened. Riley turns to Maya, who is hunched over, her hands clenched around her knees, watching the fire. The flames glint off her hair, bathe her face in light, even as the rest of her is wrapped in shadow. She could be a painting. A contrast of lights and dark, her hair a halo. “What do you want to talk about, peaches?” Riley asks, too casual; how can she ask that, when she’s thinking of Maya in this way? To her own ears, it sounds forced, stilted, over-earnest and plastic as the signs in a department store.

She shrugs, keeps looking into the fire. Riley sighs, leans back, lets her head rest against the log. The stars are so bright out here. It’s almost frightening how many of them there are, spread across the sky like someone tipped over a cup of glitter. There’s so much—so much of everything, of the sky of the stars, of the air, and being out here, empty as it is, ironically only makes it feel like it’s pressing down on her that much more, because there is nothing—no smoke, no buildings, no artificial lights burning like captured stars—to shelter her. She could seize up with the fear just looking at this sky for too long.

“Riles?” Maya’s voice has an almost plaintive lilt to it. Riley sits back up; this conversation is going to be like the sky, she fears. Beautiful and relentless and something she almost regrets hoping for.

“Yes, peaches?” she answers.

“What did you mean, when Lucas asked you what wanted? And you said you knew? Did you really tell him you love him like a brother?”

Is that all anyone wants to know? “Yes, I told him, because like I told you, you need to feel whatever you need to feel. I won’t get in your way.” _Even if I want to. Even if I don’t know how I want to._ The thought of losing Lucas and Maya is like a punch in the gut even as it smacks her in the face. It knocks the wind out of her, burns her, kicks her off balance, but she couldn’t tell you which one hurts more.

“And you’re sure I like Lucas?” Maya looks at her, her eyes wide, frightened, like she’s standing on the edge of a cliff. Her hands twist in her lap. Riley wants to take them, flatten them against her own, draw calming circles on the skin. She folds her own hands over her knees.

“Maya, I can’t tell you how to feel,” she says. _Even if I want to._

“I feel like I told you how to feel,” she mumbles. “About Lucas.”

“I love him like a brother, like you said.” It doesn’t even feel like a lie any more, she’s said it so many times. 

“But maybe you love him for real!” Maya’s voice cracks, a rusty door slammed tight in Rileys face. “Maybe I’m wrong.”

“Well. Maybe.” _But I can’t afford to think like that right now._ Riley sighs, sick of this swirling feeling, sick of never knowing what to say. She’s been tongue-tied before, but not like this. Never like this. “But if you’re wrong, why did you think it in the first place?”

“I don’t know.” Maya sounds miserable, her voice low and watery. Riley wants nothing more than to squeeze the water from Maya’s lungs, to hear her voice, crisp and cool, the way it’s supposed to sound. If only she knew how.

 _Kiss her._ The voice is no louder than a whisper, the hiss of flames and the crackle of logs. And the voice is as loud as a siren, a bomb going off and a street exploding. _Kiss her._ The pink cloud coalesces in her mind and drops to rest on her heart, a lodestone trying to pull Maya close.

Riley swallows hard. Now she’s the one on the cliff’s edge, and she knows Maya’s already skittish; for all her bravado, she’ll bolt if she’s pushed too far. But if this thought turns clouds into rocks, then maybe it’ll turn this ship towards land. And she just can’t deal with this uncertainty anymore; she wants the ground smooth under her feet, no rocks, no drop-off. “Maybe you saw what you wanted to see. Between me and Lucas, I mean. And you saw it because either you like Lucas, like I said before, or because…because you like…” _Leap of faith._ “You like me.”

She hears Maya’s breath hitch. She wants to look, but she’s afraid of what she’ll see on Maya’s face. Disgust. Fear. Anger. _How could you think I like a girl?_ She doesn’t know why she fears that exactly, just that she does, so she looks at the stars again. Suddenly they’re less frightening.

“I saw what I wanted to see,” Maya whispers. It’s so soft Riley almost thinks she didn’t hear it. Actually, she pretends not to hear it, just keeps staring at the sky, and wishing she hadn’t wished for anything to happen at all.

“You really think I just saw what I wanted to see?” This time, Riley feels she can’t ignore it, because it’s a question.

“Maybe. But I don’t know which way you feel.” _I know what I’d like us to be,_ and the thought of Lucas’ lips blooms in her mind. They never kissed after the subway. Why hadn’t she done that? She should’ve kissed him earlier, she wanted to, and if she had, she wouldn’t be having this conversation. But then Maya licks her lips and she could cry. She doesn’t want either option, or she wants both. She doesn’t know, she doesn’t know, she doesn’t know. But she does know—she did this, she did all of this; she should’ve kept her mouth shut, shouldn’t have wished for anything. _Everything bad in the world is your fault._

“I feel.” Maya stops. A tear quivers on the edge of her eyelid. It catches the light of the flames like a jewel, pulsing with an almost magnetic light, and Riley, transfixed, can’t stop herself from moving a hand to brush against it, to catch it and keep it and wear it in her hair…

Maya catches her hand, then catches her face. Pulls her close until their noses are flush against each other. Riley feels the wetness of the tear against her finger, sees another tear slip down Maya’s cheek, moves her free hand to trace the tear’s track. Maya shivers under her touch, presses in closer, and Riley knows she was right: this is beautiful and relentless and something she almost regrets hoping for. Almost. But not fully because this is better than the sky, and twice as scary, yet somehow comforting, because Maya’s hand fits her, Maya’s face fits her, so unlike the enormity of the sky, which is too big, too much; this is just right.

“We can’t do this,” Maya whispers, and the floor slides out again.

“Why not?” Riley feels Maya crumbling under her touch, a mountain, a landslide.

“It’s Lucas.” Her voice is strangled. Even as she says it, she doesn’t draw away. “It is Lucas.”

“How can you say that?” _How can you say that when I’m the only thing holding you up right now?_ Maya is almost slumped against her hands, her own hands still clutching Riley’s face. _How can you say that?_

“I know how I feel,” she says, closing her eyes. She still doesn’t pull away. “It’s Lucas.”

 _Then let go of me._ “Okay,” Riley says. “Okay.” She should’ve kissed Lucas before she left. Why did she let Farkle take him for ice cream? That should be her, they should be sitting in a booth together, talking and laughing, and when they kiss, they should taste vanilla and chocolate mixing together, sweet and sticky. Why didn’t she do that?

Because Maya is a gravitational force that she can never pull away from. Naming it makes it real, makes that pink rock even more solid, a star that’s grown too big and bright. A supernova black and gold in her heart. She should’ve kissed Maya when she had the chance. Taste smoke and cherry lip balm. Sweeter than ice cream.

Their fingers linger on each other’s faces as they draw apart. Riley still feels the wetness of Maya’s tears on her fingertip. Maya looks down, her face shrouded in shadows again; Riley looks up. Beautiful, relentless regret. “I’ll talk to Lucas about it, if you want me to,” she says quietly. Might as well torture herself more.

Maya doesn’t say anything. Suddenly the silence is unbearable, and the sky is bearing down on her, pressing her like a lump of coal. Perhaps they could have been diamonds, but now everything is dust. She stands, brushes herself off for lack of anything else to do, and walks toward the house. Her steps direct her towards the bathroom, where she’ll cry without looking in the mirror and then, when she’s drained and limp, she’ll put on her smile and tell Lucas what to do.


	2. on my own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Maya likes you.” It comes out in a rush. What she said to Maya came out slowly, a tendril of smoke drifting lazily towards the sky; this spurts out, like she’s spitting hot coals out of her mouth. She doesn’t want to taste those words. _It is Lucas._ It’s like she’s slitting her own wrists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, since many people requested that I continue this story, here it is, chapter 2. slightly less focus on rilaya as a couple in this one and more of a focus on riley herself (with some rucas) but still angsty. I promise the angst will be gone in the final chapter. chapter title taken from two sources: hayley kiyoko's "gravel to tempo" (I gotta be **on my own** ) and the les mis song "on my own" (I love him/her, but only **on my own** ).

When Lucas comes back, she’s scrubbed the tear stains off her cheeks with hot water and laid down on the couch. Some old romance movie is on, black and white, lots of kissing and hand holding and clutching. Not exactly what she wants to see right now—every time one of the leads strokes the other’s cheek her stomach seizes up—but there’s nothing else on, and she doesn’t want to sit in silence. Maya went up to bed already; when Riley heard her come in, she shut her eyes and pretended to be asleep.

 _You like me._ What an asinine thing to say. Now she’s ruined everything. _Everything bad in the world is your fault._

“Riley.” Lucas’ voice, soft and surprised. Farkle pokes his head out behind him. She sits up, pins her smile into place. The old mask has certainly taken quite a hit, but again, it’s not like anyone will notice.

“Hey. Did you enjoy your ice cream?” _Sweet and sticky._ Her hands ball into fists.

“Yeah, did you enjoy your conversation?” Farkle’s eyes fix on her, tight and piercing. Farkle and Maya frequently come closest to figuring her out. She turns up the wattage on her smile, crosses her fingers in the hopes he won’t notice.

“Yes, we had a lovely conversation, and now I’d like to have a lovely conversation with Lucas.” Why does everyone think only Maya can lie? Riley has been lying all night with ease.

Farkle snorts. “Okay then. Enjoy all your _lovely_ conversations. I’ll just be upstairs being left out of all this _loveliness._ Nice movie,” he adds as he heads towards the stairs. “The guy lets the girl go because he thinks that will make her happy and then they’re both miserable.”

“Thank you!” Riley wishes she had something to throw at him, because she’s pretty sure he’s lying about the ending. He’s like her father, trying to tie everything back to her life in a demented effort to teach her a lesson. _They’re both miserable._ The joke is on him; she’s never not been miserable.

Lucas shakes his head, sits down close to her, close enough that their legs are touching. Suddenly everything shrinks to the head of a pin. She feels the heat from his body pulsing through his jeans, his heartbeat just a murmur away. _Kiss me._ “So, a lovely conversation. Does that mean this weird brother-sister thing is over?”

It would be easy to say yes. It would be so easy to say yes and fall into his arms and pretend that what happened with Maya never really did happen, was just snipped out of existence. She never promised Maya anything. She doesn’t owe her anything. Riley Matthews does not owe Maya Hart a single thing.

She takes a deep breath. “Well, I talked to Maya—” _God damn it._

“Is she the reason for this?” he interrupts. “God, I knew she didn’t like me, I didn’t realize she _hated_ me.”

Riley feels like she doesn’t know her lines again—Lucas has skipped ahead several pages, she’s still on scene five, she can’t pick up the thread of this conversation. It’s all undone, a sweater unspooled. “What?” is all she can say.

“That Maya doesn’t want us together because she doesn’t like me. She told you to say all that stuff about us being brother and sister at the fairground, right, but then you guys talked and now she realizes how ridiculous she’s been.”

Well _that_ was unexpected. Riley stares at him—he seems so sure, his eyes bright with righteous anger. Again she thinks—it would be so easy to agree with him, to blame Maya, to let him believe she tried to keep them apart. _It is Lucas,_ she hears Maya say again, and she feels Maya’s hands pull away, and she wants to say it, to say yes, hasn’t she been so ridiculous? How can she not want us together? I love you, I love you, I love you, and let Lucas’ hands replace Maya’s, Lucas’ lips replace Maya’s. The words are on the tip of her tongue but then—will Maya even care? And what if she really does like Lucas ( _how can you say that_ ), then Riley is ruining any chance for her. And what if it’s all a joke, a test? What Maya did, is Lucas testing her loyalty? Is Maya testing her loyalty? Plots within plots, and she wishes she wasn’t so damned paranoid, and then she realizes she should say something because Lucas is just looking at her, eyebrow raised, waiting on her.

“No,” she says finally. “That’s not what happened.”

“Oh.” He looks down, his eyes narrowed. “Then what—”

“Maya likes you.” It comes out in a rush. What she said to Maya came out slowly, a tendril of smoke drifting lazily towards the sky; this spurts out, like she’s spitting hot coals out of her mouth. She doesn’t want to taste those words. _It is Lucas._ It’s like she’s slitting her own wrists.

Lucas sits back, as if he’s been smacked. His eyes widen. “What?”

 _Don’t make me say it again._ “Maya likes you,” she repeats, every word a knife in her throat.

“Huh.” She notices that he’s moved away from her—a space opens between their legs, a chasm, a void. Everyone seems to be pulling away from her. All her planets tear away, turn to dust, and she is doomed to drift through the stars alone with nothing to orbit and nothing to hold. The space between them may be a thousand miles for how alone it makes her feel.

And because she wouldn’t be Riley Matthews if she didn’t twist the knife even further, she continues, “That’s why she was so worried about you riding the bull. She realized she liked you, and she couldn’t stand to see you get hurt. And that’s why…” She stares down at her hands, twists the friendship ring on her finger. It looks like it’s mocking her; it winks in the dim light from the lamp, like the stars outside, little laughing winks, happy to see her sad. If she truly were a planet, the stars would laugh at her as she drifted by them, thousands of them legion against her loneliness. “That’s why I said you and I should be like brother and sister. To give you guys a chance.”

“So it’s a lie.” She feels his eyes on her, and she looks up. Searchlights again, like she’s the ocean and he’s a sailor trying to see to the bottom, if only he could make all the muck disappear. This look always makes her burn, and she can never tell whether it feels good or whether it hurts. Maybe a little bit of both.

“What’s a lie?” she asks, her throat dry.

“You thinking of me as your brother. You don’t, you just said that for Maya’s sake.”

“Well, technically, I said it because she told me that’s how she thought of us.” Which is probably the wrong thing to say, because his eyes go dark.

“So she did tell you to feel this way?” he asks. There’s an edge to his voice, so sharp she could prick her finger on it. Well now she’s _really_ screwed this one up.

“No, I mean, she said—that time, when she was pretending to be me, remember? She said she felt like you and I were like brother and sister, not…boyfriend and girlfriend.”

He’s silent for a moment, his eyes roving over her face again. They come to rest on her lips. _Sweet and sticky. Kiss her._ She knows what’s going to happen, she half-wants what’s going to happen, but even if she didn’t, she’d let it happen anyway because she’s lonely, and she wants to someone to want her.

He leans in, presses his lips against hers. One hand rests against her cheek, the other tangles in her hair. It’s like déjà vu, only there’s no ring caught up in her hair, and his lips don’t taste like smoke and cherries. But she’s not thinking totally about that because he’s here and he’s real and he wants to kiss her, he doesn’t shy away at the last moment. It’s longer than their first kiss—not that that’s hard—she feels his tongue brush against her mouth. And then it’s over. He pulls away. His one hand stays on her cheek. He smiles, and she smiles too. It felt good. It did feel good.

“She doesn’t know us,” he whispers, and snap—like a split wire, like the lights going out, the feeling is gone. Because Maya does know her, knows her so well that she can break her with one word. And she knows Maya.

She lets it be, though, because he’s still got a doofy grin on his face, and she likes seeing it. It suits him, reminds her of the day they first met. Actually, it’s all kind of similar. Maya pushed her away the day they first met; Maya pushed her away on their first date; Maya pushed her away tonight. Right into his arms. Right against his lips. Crash and collide.

“I’ll talk to Maya tomorrow,” he says as he pulls his hand away. “But I like _you_ , Riley.”

“I know.” _It’s not you she likes anyway._ “I like you too, Lucas.”

“I know.” He stands, extends a hand out to her. “Come up to bed?”

She flushes— _we sound like a married couple_ —but takes his hand. She knows she could torture herself more sitting down here watching this movie and thinking, but suddenly she feels exhaustion soaking her, and sleeping for the night, for the next day, for the next month possibly, sounds wonderful. This night alone has bled her dry. “Okay.”

She shuts the TV off with her free hand. The couple flickers away, right as they’re leaning in for another kiss. Snap, and the little grey line breaks them apart. It’s familiar, and another reason why she wants to go to sleep. These little reminders pile up in her heart like dead leaves that need to be raked away.

Lucas leads the way upstairs, his hand warm in hers. The stairs creak beneath them, far too loud, because now she’s remembering that she shares a room with Maya and the stairs are screaming under their feet and Maya is going to wake up, Maya is going to be awake when she walks in, and either she’ll say something or she’ll say nothing at all, and Riley doesn’t know which one she dreads more, her words like fire or her silence like ashes. God damn it.

Lucas stops outside the door. Her hand rests against the knob, but she can’t bring herself to turn it. Lucas cocks an eyebrow at her. “Are you okay?”

It’s like a punch to her gut. She was bloated before, her stomach aching, swelling, and this has pricked her—she’s deflating, she feels it. She tries to smile, but she knows it’s weak, faded, and he pulls her in for a hug, rests his chin on her shoulder. She could stay here forever. _Don’t let me go._ She sways a little, bunches his shirt under her fingers, and he holds her tighter, and she feels like she might tell him everything, spill it all out, everything that happened with Maya, so long as he doesn’t let go, _please don’t let me go, don’t let me go, don’t let me go—_

A gasp. Riley turns, still in Lucas’ arms. Of all the things to happen. She could laugh, but she’s afraid it would come out as a sob.

Maya stands in the doorway. She stands and stares and keeps staring and Riley wishes she had just stayed downstairs on the couch, frozen in the moment between Maya leaving and Lucas coming, self-contained and self-pitying. Anything but this. Anything but this moment. Anything but Maya’s face, open for a moment and then closed again, shock giving way to sadness giving way to—nothing. Nothing at all.

Lucas drops his arms, steps back, his cheeks bright red. “Uh, okay, well, good night, Riley,” he fumbles as he slinks away. And she’s alone again. Alone with Maya.

Riley can feel Maya’s eyes on her, burning into her skin like candles. She glances at her, but it’s like glancing at the sun—it keeps burning, it doesn’t care about her. “I,” she starts, although it’s not like she actually knows where she’s going with the sentence, but Maya brushes past her into the bathroom. So it’s silence. Ashes. Okay. Okay.

Riley walks into the room. She falls into bed. She bundles the covers up around her. She shuts her eyes. She holds her breath. More silence, silence for what feels like hours. Then a door creaking open. Footsteps that pause just outside. Silence again, and then the creak of the stairs. More silence.

Downstairs, Riley knows, the black and white couple has flickered back to life. Upstairs, Riley falls into uneasy dreams of whispers and almost-kisses, of fingers brushing her cheek and arms around her waist.  
*****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************  
The next morning is such a whirl, a rush to get to the airport, that Riley forgets that she and Maya will be sitting next to each other, because of course they are. Because where else would they sit? Although they hadn’t sat next to each other on the way over. They’d all been in the back of Pappy Joe’s truck with their luggage strewn everywhere. Lucas and Zay and Farkle sat on their suitcases in a circle, like they were back around the campfire. The resemblance had made Riley feel hot and cold at the same time, sweat like ice pricking her skin. She had wedged herself into the back corner, watched the countryside trickle by like paint dripping down a canvas. But she can’t do that on the plane.

“Hey,” she says, tentative. Maya barely glances at her. She has her sketchbook in her lap, her hand curled around a colored pencil. Riley sits, self-conscious.

“About last night—,” she starts, but Maya cuts her off.

“Listen. Lucas likes you, he doesn’t like me. And that’s fine. I don’t need a guy to make me happy.” The words feel like a judgment, an indictment— _you need a guy to be happy,_ but Riley tells herself she’s just being paranoid as usual.

“So you talked to Lucas about this?” she asks.

Maya scoffs. “No, why would I want to talk to him?”

“Because he told me he was going to, and you—,”

“Well, he didn’t. And I don’t want him to. Whatever you said to him last night, whatever happened between the two of you, that’s my answer. He doesn’t like me.”

“You don’t even know what happened.”

“I saw what happened. You guys were pretty obvious. You were hugging like you hadn’t seen each other in weeks. That’s not how brothers and sisters hug,” she says with a wry smile. “I’m not stupid, Riley.”

“I never said you were.”

“I know.” She goes all soft for a moment, her eyes resting on Riley’s face. Riley tenses all over because this is the closest they’ve been since the campfire, and the little voice saying _Kiss her_ gets louder the longer they stare at each other. She wants to believe Maya is thinking the same thing, wants to believe that the distance between them, already so small, can be closed.

“Well, I’m going to sleep. The time change messed me up.” Maya pushes her sketchbook onto the pop-out desk from the seat in front of her and turns away, curled up in her seat with her sweatshirt thrown over her like a blanket. The distance expands. The thread between them snaps. The words that were halfway out of her mouth— _What about us?_ —shrivel up and die on her lips. 

Minutes pass. Riley is drifting on a waft of smoke when Maya speaks again, her voice muffled.

“I shouldn’t have told you that you and Lucas were like brother and sister. I knew you’d start freaking out and thinking that too, even if you didn’t feel it, and I still told you. I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry.” Maya’s finger tapping against the armrest cuts clear through her words, _tip, tip, tip,_ like a heart. The tell-tale heart. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes.” Riley feels her throat closing up. It’s true, she will always say yes to Maya, she would do anything for Maya. That’s the thread that underlies their friendship, the seam of gold between the two of them—they’d do anything for each other. Anything. Is that wrong? “Yes. You don’t have to apologize though.”

Silence, except for the _tip, tip, tip,_ and then, “Yes, I do.” Her words are muddled, like they’re coming to Riley from underwater. “I knew what I was doing, and it was wrong.”

“I don’t care—,”

“Well maybe you should!” Her head whips around, her eyes burning over deep purple circles like bruises. Candles in a candle holder. “God, Riley, I’m trying to apologize, why can’t you just accept it?” Her voice is rough, all stones and scraped knees, and it rubs Riley raw. Wrong again, everything she does is wrong.

“Okay,” she whispers, and Maya sighs, turns away again. Conversation over. Is this what it’s going to be like from now on? Stilted words that devolve into short, choppy bursts, a boat on a windswept sea bobbing up and down. And then these silences, the air thick with lightning and unspoken words. _What have I done?_ The thought keeps ticking through her head. The tell-tale heart. _What have I done, what have I done, what have I done?_

Slight pressure on her shoulder. She turns, sees Lucas halfway out of his seat, his eyes narrowed. He jerks his head towards the back. She nods, stands, shuffles towards the bathroom, still half-dazed from what Maya said. Lucas follows her; she feels his fingers ghost her back as they walk down the aisle and into the bathroom. The door barely closes to hold the two of them.

“Is she upset?” he asks as soon as the door is closed. He’s too close; why did she come back here? She can barely remember how she got here. It’s like she’s been struck in the head. Everything’s fuzzy, everything’s static, tuned to a dead station. She shakes her head a little, trying to find the right channel again.

“Yeah. You said you were going to talk to her, but you didn’t.”

“Well I got…scared,” he mutters, shifting uncomfortably. His body bumps against hers and she could scream. Why did she come back here? “She looked really upset last night, you know, but now I’m wondering, maybe I should go talk to her.”

“Then go talk to her,” Riley says, her voice flat. She’s like one of those animatronics at Disney World that’s running on low battery, voice pitching down, movements slowing. She clenches her hands at her side. Why did she come back here? It smells like shit. There’s no better way to say it. And he’s still too close. It’s funny, she wanted him close enough to taste last night, but now she’d rather be at the bottom of the ocean than stuck up in this goddamn bathroom with him.

“If she says she likes me, Riley, what am I supposed to do?” Wheedling, going sharp. It scratches at her eardrums; she has to fight every muscle in her body from clamping her hands over her ears.

“What do you mean, what are you supposed to do? If she says you likes her, then tell her you don’t.”

“But…” He looks away from her, but it’s not like there’s much else for him to look at. Riley watches his face contort, and she knows what he’s going to say before he says it. She can’t say she’s surprised. Somehow she knew it was all too good to be true. It was too good to be true holding Maya at the campfire, too good to be true that they were so close, close enough to taste. And last night was too good to be true kissing Lucas, being wanted. She knew it when Maya opened the door to them hugging; she knew it when Lucas had that puckered worried look on his face; she knows it now, two seconds before Lucas opens his mouth, she knows it. Not that it makes it any easier to hear. “What if I don’t know what I feel anymore?”

She really could laugh, it’s almost comical. _It’s Lucas. It is Lucas._ And why not? Why would it be her? God, she would choose anyone before herself too. She almost can’t even blame them. _You like me._ What a really, truly asinine thing to believe.

“Then tell her that, Lucas. Tell her and talk to her about it and—,” _get out, get out, get out_ “—and don’t worry about me. I understand. We’re all feeling a lot of different things that we can’t help. Whatever you decide, I’ll support. I just want you and Maya to be happy.” This, at least, is not a lie.

He looks at her, almost awestruck. “I do like you, Riley,” but it’s tentative, faint. Fading. And she can only smile and nod and smile and nod and smile and nod until he leaves.

She stays in the bathroom for who knows how long. She can’t remember. She knows she cries, cries until her head hurts, cries until she can’t breathe, cries until she doesn’t even know why she’s crying. When she leaves, she doesn’t go back to her seat; the plane wasn’t sold out, so she drops into an empty seat next to some business woman typing furiously on her phone. She falls asleep to the _tip, tip, tip_ of the woman’s fingernails on the screen—,i >the telltale heart—it drips through her dreams, where she walks through the hallways of school searching for something, but everyone she tries to ask runs away from her. Only the backs of heads bobbing like apples. Her fingers always brush against their shoulders, but they never turn around, just keep walking. What they’re doing, where they’re going, she doesn’t know, but it’s separate from her. Unmoored.

She wakes up when the plane lands and doesn’t even want to go back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that the final chapter will be a lot happier and that rilaya will end up together. thank you for reading!


	3. on purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tear slides down her cheek, light as a finger, as a feather dragged across her skin. More tears line up in her eyes, turning her room into a kaleidoscope of light. Certain things are thrown into hyper focus—Maya’s lower lip trembling; the curtains by the bay window lifting by the gentlest of breezes; Maya stepping closer; Maya’s eyes shining brighter than moonlight; Maya’s hand coming to rest on her cheek, brushing the tear away; Maya’s mouth just a heartbeat away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long delay between chapters!! college got super busy, plus I kept getting stuck with how I wanted to wrap everything up. honestly I probably rewrote this chapter about five times before I got it to where I was happy with it. but it's here now. chapter title from sabrina carpenter's song "on purpose".  
> warning: depiction of a panic attack and one (1) curse word

And life goes on. As it did after the yearbook came out (she pretended like it didn’t bother her that everyone in the school thought of her as a joke, thought of her and Lucas as a joke, while telling her she could never change, she would be the butt of their jokes for the rest of her life); as it did after the semi-formal (she pretended like it didn’t bother her that Lucas and Charlie had guilt tripped her, as if it was her fault Lucas never asked, her fault that she didn’t like Charlie); as it did after she saw how much her parents had done for the world (she pretended like she wasn’t worried about falling off the face of the earth, but she was, oh God she was); as it did after the bullying (she pretended like the bullying had stopped after the little confrontation, but the texts still came, less frequent, but there, like a scar, little reminders that she was annoying, silly, stupid, awful, that her friends only stuck around out of pity, that the whole school thought of her as a joke and she only had to look in the yearbook for proof); as it did after her attempts to get on the cheerleading squad (she pretended like it didn’t bother her that her friends had no faith in her, that not one of them had believed she could do it until the last moment). It goes on and on and on.  
***************************************************  
Watching them together is an exquisite torture, even moreso because she knows it’s her fault they’re even together in the first place. Which is why Riley finds herself saying something she never thought she’d say.

“Hey, Charlie, I’m so glad you could make it!”

Deep down, she almost wants to like Charlie Gardner. Maybe in another world she could, a world where she somehow manages to flatten herself for others even more. Maybe she’d like him then. But in this world—there’s too much of him. He expands outwards, reaching hands, over earnest smile, as bright and stilted and desperate as an advertising campaign. It doesn’t draw her to him; it makes her want to wrap herself in a blanket and cry. And he wants far too much of her too, things that she’s never offered. He’d swallow her whole if he could, and there’s already so little of her to go around—she wouldn’t survive him. But she never claimed to be above self-destructive tendencies. Maya’s not the only one to seek the worst things out.

“Hey, Riley.” His arms flop around, unsure of where to go. She allows him to step in for a hug, if only to watch Maya and Lucas over his shoulder. Lucas is half-turned in his seat, watching them; Maya sits beside him, her back straight as a board. _Almost a victory._ She pulls away.

“Uh, when I got your text, I wasn’t sure you were serious cause I thought you still had your thing with Friar.” He nods his head towards Lucas, who turns away, a tic going off in his jaw. Riley watches him from the corner of her eye as she smiles at Charlie.

“We’re exploring other options,” she says. The tic increases in tempo. _Why am I doing this?_ That crystal clarity that broke her on the plane when she was in the bathroom with Lucas. _Why am I doing this?_ It certainly wasn’t making her happy. But it was making her feel something, and feeling something is better than feeling nothing.

“I can see that.” He nods his head again at Lucas. “Who—?” Maya whips around, her eyes flashing. Charlie laughs, incredulous, and turns to Riley. “It’s Hart? Well I guess that makes sense, they did win ‘Cutest Couple’ in the yearbook.”

Or maybe this is the real reason she can never like Charlie Gardner.

She pretends to laugh, forces a tight chuckle out of her throat. It’s like she’s choking on the sound. Maya laughs too but it’s bitter, hollow, like coffee grounds. “Yeah, and what did you win again, Gardner? ‘Most Desperate’?”

This, coming from Maya, not Lucas—from Maya, who has never noticed Charlie except to say “Cheese soufflé” and tease Riley, who otherwise ignores him, who half the time can’t even be bothered to remember his name—Maya, who is now bristling at him with eyes full of anger and a voice full of malice. Riley would almost like to keep it going, except that Charlie’s face falls, and even if she doesn’t like him, she doesn’t hate him, and the constant insistence to be nice that’s been hammered like a ton of nails into her head pushes her to say, “Okay, Maya, no need to be rude.”

“Well, Riles, I didn’t win ‘Biggest Bitch’ for nothing.”

The words are like a bomb dropped in the middle of the café. The familiar old nickname paired with the curse—it’s not like Riley has never heard curses before, her parents have dropped them a time or twenty, and she’s certainly thought them, and Maya used to whisper them to Riley to make her giggle and blush—but the two shouldn’t go together. It isn’t right, it doesn’t sound right. It jars like a piano out of tune.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Lucas breaks through. He places a hand on Maya’s shoulder, which Riley is gratified to see she shrugs off— _small victories_. “Let’s just let Riley go on her date and we’ll continue ours and everything will be fine.”

“Thanks, Friar,” Charlie says.

“Yeah, don’t talk to me.” Lucas turns away. Maya stays watching them both.

“You know, Riley, you don’t have to go on a date with someone you don’t like.” Her voice has that same coarse quality it had on the plane from Texas, all sharp edges ready to cut Riley with the slightest brush, and goddamn but Riley has really painted herself into a corner here. _You knew they’d get jealous, that was the whole point_ , but leave it to Riley Matthews to second guess a plan when it’s already in motion! She’s sick and tired, though, of feeling this way, of walking on eggshells and dancing on tightropes and flattening herself into manageable pieces. She made this mess— _everything bad in the world is your fault_ —she might as well set it on fire.

“Maybe you should take your own advice, Maya.” She walks out, not even bothering to register the damage. She’ll have time to regret it when she gets home.  
**********************************************************  
She gets home much sooner than she expects because it looks the damage she’s done has been more to herself than anyone else. Halfway through the movie, she feels the familiar, rising tide of panic in her stomach, an riptide ready to drag her out to sea, a gush of salty water rushing up her nose and pouring down her throat and keeping her from breathing because she knows that she has ruined everything, that Maya must hate her now, Lucas must hate her now, everyone must hate her now or they always hated her, because she told them to be together, she pushed them together, so she has no right to be angry anymore, she has no claim over either of them, she can’t own either of them, and it would make sense if they tossed her aside because she is too inconsistent, and Charlie has to basically bundle her out of the theater while she tries to call her parents, her fingers fumbling, and when they answer she can’t form words, she can only vomit up the stream of saltwater.

Charlie keeps up a steady stream of attempts at conversation on the car ride home, vaults of arrows that continually miss their mark. By that time, Riley has been spat up on the shores. She curls up in her seat, wrapping her coat around her, leaning her head against the window. When they finally reach Charlie’s house, he promises to text her in the morning to make sure she’s okay. His hands hover over her arm as if she is a bomb about to go off. She gives him a wan smile for his troubles—she’s too tired to start feeling guilty for ruining his date yet—and he smiles back before hopping out of the car. As he walks up to his house, her mother turns to her from the front. “I know you’re feeling very fragile right now, but Jesus Christ, honey.” She jerks her head at Charlie’s house. Riley smiles, a more genuine one this time.

“I know,” she whispers.

“But really, honey, what happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to call Maya when we get home? Ask her if she wants to sleep over?”

“No.” The vehemence of her words surprises even herself. It clearly surprises her mother, because Topanga raises her eyebrows.

“Does this have something to do with Maya and Lucas going on their date?” she asks.

“How did you—”

“I was down in the shop just before you called. I saw them together, asked where you were. They told me they were on a date, I asked when all that started because I thought you and Lucas had a thing going on. They didn’t seem to want to say anything. About five minutes later, right before I left, I saw Maya dump a smoothie on Lucas’ head and walk out.” Her eyes search Riley’s face. “Honey, why didn’t you tell me something happened between you and Lucas?”

 _Because you would worry over me, and I don’t want anyone to think about me right now. Because there are more important things in this world. Because I was afraid you’d tell me that I needed to let this happen for Maya’s sake. Because talking about it makes it real. Because I just don’t know how to talk about myself without feeling selfish. Without feeling wrong._ The words all dam up behind her teeth. She can only shrug.

Topanga stretches out a hand to rub Riley’s knee. “You can always come to me or your father if you need anything, sweetheart. We’re there for a reason. And I don’t like the idea of you going through all this on your own.”

Riley feels the tears welling up again, but softer tears this time. Not the hard, pounding waves of before; tears like slips of silk, tears like her mother’s touch. She almost holds them back but she’s tired, she’s so tired. The dam cracks; the tears rush out. But it’s not as scary this time. It’s not the ocean pounding against the shore, it’s a river making its gentle way through the woods.

“I just want my friends to be happy, mommy,” she whispers through the stream.

Topanga takes her hand, raises it to her lips. “I know you do, sweetheart, but you deserve to be happy too.”  
************************************************************

New Year’s Eve brings the promise of a fresh start, or at least that’s what Riley has been telling herself. Supposedly she’ll make resolutions— _try not to worry so much about everything, realize you don’t have to have a relationship immediately_ —and as soon as the clock strikes 12:00, those nasty little flaws will slough off her skin like the universe itself is exfoliating her. Now, she wants to believe that the universe looks out for people—she doesn’t think anything is random, quite the opposite; everything happens for a reason, some things are meant to be, and noticing those coincidences is like noticing the universe winking at you. But lately it seems like the universe has not been winking so much as, well, shitting all over her. So her relentless optimism has taken a slight hit.

Still, she thinks tonight will, at the very least, be the start of something new. Maya and Lucas haven’t said anything about their date, and Riley pretended like her mother hadn’t told her anything. They all tried to act normally around each other, but there was a frisson of tension every time one of them would look at one of the others, or one would notice the others looking at each other. Which is why Riley decided that on New Year’s Eve, she would tell Lucas and Maya that a decision had to be made. But since she had decided on the decision, she would not be making the _final_ final decision. She decided to leave it up to Lucas, as the most neutral party. Her mother had told her that she should make a decision for herself— _you deserve to be happy too_ —but it’s one thing to hear words, it’s another thing to put them into action. It’s a step Riley’s just not ready to take. But it _is_ a step she’s ready to make Lucas take.

At the party, she flits around from person to person, mostly to avoid Maya and Lucas. She tries to stay close to Zay, Farkle, and Smackle, although she can’t help but notice Maya sitting on the window seat in the living room. Lucas hovers nearby, as if trying to give the allusion of a relationship between them, but Maya doesn’t pay him any attention. Which is good, except not.

And then it gets worse.

“Hey, Riley.”

 _Goddamnit_. She’d forgotten that she’d invited everyone in her class, which meant everyone, which meant—

“Charlie Gardner!” She turns, smiles, tries to fight the rising tide of anxiety she has come to associate with him. He smiles back at her, awkward, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He shifts his weight between his legs, back and forth, back and forth, until she feels almost seasick just watching him.

“I’m sorry again for what happened at our date. I wish I could have done something—”

“What did you do on Riley’s date?” Maya interrupts. She stands up from the window seat, steps smoothly beside Riley, fixes Charlie with a cold stare. “Something embarrassing, I hope?”

“It wasn’t his fault, Maya. I had a panic attack—”

“You made Riley have a panic attack?” Maya interrupts again. Now her eyes are burning. She takes a step towards Charlie, and he visibly shrinks, even though he’s tall and she’s, well, Maya. But she is Maya, and that’s not something you mess with. Riley has to suppress a smile at Maya acting like this, so protective, like a little dog yapping at Charlie’s ankles. Or like an older sister. _Or like a knight in shining armor, defending her princess_. Riley flushes—that’s not a thought for right now. She pulls Maya back.

“It wasn’t his fault. It just sort of came out of nowhere, he just happened to be with me.”

Maya scoffs. “Are you sure he didn’t set it off? Sure he didn’t hire a bunch of dudes to carry you around on one of those big cushion thingies and buy out the whole theater and find out what your most favorite movie is and screen it on repeat and maybe throw in a couple of white horses like the stalker, cheese soufflé, ha-hurr, ha-hurr, ha-hurr he is?”

Silence. Maya freezes, blanches. Lucas looks over at them, because of course, because that’s his cue after all. Maya’s eyes flick between him and Charlie, him and Charlie, like twin birds that can’t decide where to land. Then she bolts, tearing through the house towards, where else, the bay window, and Riley can only follow while Charlie and Lucas are both looking at her, looking at her and watching her, she can feel their eyes on her as she goes. She would like nothing more than to peel them off like two band-aids.

Maya is pacing in the room when Riley enters. She whirls around to face Riley, her eyes blazing. “Why are you doing this?”

Now, Riley is typically five steps ahead of everyone when it comes to blaming herself, but this time, she is at a loss as to what exactly she has done. Because it’s not like she could have guessed that Maya would react to Charlie like this when every other time they’ve interacted, Maya has just laughed and yelled, “Cheese soufflé!” in his face. So “What are you talking about?” is all she can say.

“Charlie Gardner? Are you kidding me, Riley? It was bad enough having to watch you and Lucas together!”

“What? Don’t tell me you like Charlie now too.”

Maya laughs, but there is no happiness in it—it’s bitter again, like it was at the café the day of their dates, like a rush of caffeine through her veins. Has she heard Maya laugh like normal lately? The thought is cold underneath her anger, a chill current in the ocean. But the anger flares back up—is it her fault Maya can’t laugh like normal? _Of course it is_ , she thinks, her own thoughts as bitter as Maya’s laugh. _Everything bad in the world is your fault_. She could smack someone.

“No, I do _not_ like Charlie Gardner.”

“Then why are you angry at me, Maya?” She boils over, a tea kettle whistling and steaming, which doesn’t sound very threatening, but certainly describes the way her voice is getting shriller and shriller, he face getting brighter and brighter. “God, I try to do what’s best for everyone involved, and you still get angry at me! You told me you liked Lucas, I stepped back. You asked me to talk to Lucas for you and I did. When Lucas told me he wasn’t sure how he felt anymore, I told him to go to you. I did all of this _for you_ , and the second I try to do something for myself, the second I try to do something to distract myself from the fact that the two people I love most in this world are together and not with me, you’re angry with me! What am I supposed to do, Maya, never be with anyone ever again, just sit and cheer you and Lucas on from the sidelines?” She almost says, _until I die_ , but the more reasonable part of her, the part of her that watches her from afar when she loses her temper and clucks its tongue disapprovingly at her, says that would be laying it on a little thick. The more emotional side agrees, not because there is a particular reason, but because it is too thick—so thick she chokes on it as it’s coming up her throat.

Maya stares at her, arms folded, like a surly child. Finally, she mutters, “I never asked you to talk to Lucas.” Because of course that’s what she seizes on.

“You never told me not to,” Riley counters.

“You shouldn’t have meddled!”

“You shouldn’t have made it seem like you were going to kiss me at the campfire! You shouldn’t have held me that close and then pushed me away! You shouldn’t have made me think—” Her voice breaks, shatters like glass. _Maya’s hands on her face, Maya’s lips close enough to taste. Smoke and cherries._ When she speaks again, the pieces scratch her throat bloody. “You shouldn’t have made me think that you like me too, when you don’t.”

A tear slides down her cheek, light as a finger, as a feather dragged across her skin. More tears line up in her eyes, turning her room into a kaleidoscope of light. Certain things are thrown into hyper focus—Maya’s lower lip trembling; the curtains by the bay window lifting by the gentlest of breezes; Maya stepping closer; Maya’s eyes shining brighter than moonlight; Maya’s hand coming to rest on her cheek, brushing the tear away; Maya’s mouth just a heartbeat away.

On the one hand, it’s just a kiss—a meeting of lips for a handful of moments, nothing more, nothing less. The stars don’t shine any brighter, the room doesn’t smell any sweeter, the world doesn’t get any kinder.

On the other hand—when their lips meet, everything else drops out of view. Riley’s eyes close, like she’s falling into a dream, because this is a dream, she almost can’t believe it’s happening. Maya has been haunting her since the night at the campfire, trailing through her mind like the wisps of smoke, but she’s here, she’s solid, she’s real, she’s holding Riley, and even if Riley opens her eyes to find the world has been swept away, she knows Maya will keep her together. All those shattered pieces from before come swirling back together, and it’s not blood along her throat anymore, it’s sunlight.

When they break apart, Maya lets out a shuddery sigh. “Why was I scared of this?” she says with a shaky laugh.

Riley laughs too, and it’s like all the weight that has been on her shoulders since that night in Texas is disintegrating into the air. A little heaviness reminds, the heaviness that has been inside of her all her life, but Riley knows that Maya will share this burden with her. _Atlas holding the sky_. “I was scared too,” she says.

“I really meant to tell you that night,” Maya starts. “I really did, but then—I don’t know what happened, I just freaked out. Actually,” she laughs again, and Riley’s heart swells at the fact that it sounds like the real Maya laugh, bright and warm, a golden sound, “I do know what happened. I thought you only liked Lucas, and if I, you know, made a move on you, you would have gotten upset.”

“Hey, I touched your face first,” Riley jokes, and Maya rolls her eyes, with that sweet, familiar, fondly exasperated smile.

“Yeah, but we’ve touched each other’s faces before,” she says.

“Exactly, how did you not figure it out earlier?”

Maya wraps her arms around Riley, rests her chin on her shoulder, sways back and forth, laughing in her ear. “You’re such a dork.”

“But I’m your dork.”

Maya pulls away so that they can look into each other’s eyes, that old cliché, Riley feels like she’s spinning in a romance novel but honestly, she wouldn’t have it any other way. “Yeah,” she says, soft, eyes shining, like they’ve caught the flames of the campfire. “And I’m yours.”

Five minutes before midnight, Topanga pokes her head in. “Girls, aren’t you going to go up to the roof with your friends?”

“Yeah, totally,” Riley says vaguely. But she doesn’t want to break this tableau—sitting at the bay window, curtains rent open, Maya’s head nestled in the crook of her neck, their hands intertwined. Leaving this spot means facing everyone else, bringing herself down from this dizzy dream to the reality, to all the anxieties and whispers and voices that threaten to suffocate her. It’s quiet here. Riley isn’t ready to give that up just yet.

At midnight, the first burst of fireworks dapples the sky in light, earthly fire mixing with the faraway gleam of the stars. Maya snuggles her head closer to Riley. “You're gonna think I'm an even bigger dork,” she whispers.

“Why?” Riley asks, her smile as wide as the sea. This is the only sound she’ll allow to break the silence.

“Thunder,” Maya says, pointing with her free hand just as another cannon of fireworks echoes in Riley’s heart.

“Lightning,” Riley says, as the lights sparkle down across the skyline.

“Forever.” They whisper it together, as intertwined as their hands. And Riley’s face could almost crack from the smile. _Cause of death: smiling. Addendum: cause of death: smiling because of Maya Hart._ Who wouldn’t want to go that way?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's it! I promised that the angst would clear up in this chapter, and I hope I delivered. thank you so much for reading, commenting, and giving kudos! it means so much to me, especially since this is my first complete multi-chapter fic. <3

**Author's Note:**

> yes, I took your lucaya campfire and made it rilaya, sue me  
> some angst to balance out my rilaya fluff piece. thanks for reading!


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